Diane Gaston - Innocence in Regency Society - The Mysterious Miss M / Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress

‘Sophie is teaching me to sew.’ Her voice sounded foolish in the face of his troubled silence.

But he turned to regard her with a kind look in his eye. ‘That is very well. Had you not learned before?’

‘Oh, I was taught, but I did not heed the lessons.’

He chuckled. ‘Your head too full of horses?’

She smiled. ‘Sadly, you are right. I never could keep my mind on much else.’

He sat on the window seat, his long legs stretched out before him. ‘I know precisely what you mean.’

She sat next to him, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning against him. His arm circled around her shoulders. ‘It is a pity that I could not procure employment in a stable. I could do all manner of things there.’ She sighed.

He became silent again, and she struggled to think of some other topic to converse upon. She rested her hand on his knee and in a moment, he covered it with his own warm, strong hand.

‘No, I shall find the way,’ he murmured.

She snuggled against him, the moment acutely precious.

Devlin lifted his hand to her hair, stroking gently. Her locks felt like spun silk beneath his fingers. He inhaled the faint scent of lavender in her hair, and recalled that fragrance from his first meeting of her. After Waterloo, when fever made him delirious and his sisters bathed his forehead with lavender water, his Miss England swam through his dreams.

He had never expected to see her again, and here she was, more wonderful than he could have believed.

He snuggled her closer. She tilted her face to him, the pupils of her eyes wide, her pink lips moist and irresistible.

He kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her, wanting to remove every pain and care from her life and resolving once again to do so. No matter what he must bear.

As his lips gently rested against hers, she whispered, ‘Devlin, I…’

He moved to the tender skin beneath her ear.

‘I will make love to you, Devlin.’

He stopped and searched her face. ‘Only if you truly wish it.’

She cast her gaze down. ‘I do wish it. I know it is wicked of me.’

Lifting her chin with his finger, he forced her to meet his eye. ‘It is not wicked.’

‘But it is,’ she insisted. ‘I know it is.’

‘Well, then, I must be damned indeed.’ He ran his lips over her brow. ‘I wish that much to make love with you.’

Her face flushed pink. ‘It is different for a man.’

‘And how is it different, sweet goose?’ He pulled the pins from her hair, freeing it to tumble over her shoulders.

‘It is no shame for a man to take his pleasure.’ Her countenance was solemn. ‘Men even boast of it.’

The truth of her words shamed him.

He drew his fingers through her hair. ‘Women are made to feel the pleasure, too, Maddy. They are merely expected not to speak of it.’

‘Do you truly believe so?’ Her wide eyes made her appear as innocent as a young virgin. As she must have been, before Farley.

He smiled. ‘I do indeed.’

She gazed at him, a dreamy look on her face.

‘Come.’ He led her to the bed.

She followed almost shyly, like a bride on her first night. He was determined that she should feel every pleasure he could provide for her. He wanted to show her that lovemaking could be beautiful. Enlightening. Forgiving.

He undid the laces of her dress and gently peeled the cloth from her skin. She released a long breath. Next came her corset. As he pulled her shift over her head, she raised her arms, bringing them down again around his neck. Clinging tightly to him, she kissed him.

Though he throbbed to mate with her that instant, he kept his kiss light. He sensed she also could succumb to the passion of the moment, but he held her back. All she’d known was frenzied, impersonal coupling. He wished to show her more. He wished to show her love.

And he wished to savour each moment of it.

She unfastened his trousers and slid her hands under the cloth until she’d pushed them down to his ankles. As she stood again, she slid her hands up his legs, torso, and shoulders, nearly causing him to abandon his resolve to proceed slowly. He captured her hands in his own and tasted her lips at leisure.

Lifting her on to the bed, he settled beside her, letting his eyes drift down the naked length of her.

Miss England, he had called her that first time, half in jest. She was still so very much like the homeland he loved. Peaceful and pleasing. Exciting and teasing.

He slid his tongue down her neck and covered the rose of her nipple with his mouth. She moaned and arched toward him.

Not yet, Miss England, he thought. This must be a journey with so languid a pace every part would be savoured and committed to memory.

As dawn tried to poke its fingers through the thick morning mist, Devlin sat in shirt and trousers, staring out the window. Madeleine rolled over in the bed, making endearingly incoherent sounds as she did so. His attention shifted to her.

Her beauty took his breath away, as it had that first moment he’d seen her in Farley’s gaming hell. Her dark hair such a contrast to her fair skin; her long eyelashes, so like Linette’s, full against the pink of her cheeks. He memorised her image, just as he had done before returning to Spain.

The eyelashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. The smile she gave him, so peaceful and satisfied, tugged at his heart.

He would see that peace stay with her forever, no matter what the cost to him.

‘Good morning,’ she said, sleep making her voice raspy.

‘Did you sleep well?’ He already knew her reply. While he had hardly captured two winks all night long, she had slept as sound as a kitten.

‘Indeed.’ She stretched, arching her back and extending her arms above her head. ‘And I have the feeling that this will be a lucky day. Today you will find the solution to our problems.’

‘I have done so already.’

She brightened, sitting up straight. ‘You thought of it in your sleep?’

Sleep, indeed. ‘I thought of it last night, but I only decided this morning.’

She sprang from the bed and rushed over to climb into his lap. With her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest. ‘What is the solution, Devlin?’

He closed his eyes. As if lances were piercing his skin again, he steeled himself against the pain.

‘I must marry.’

M adeleine’s heart pounded. Marriage had figured too prominently in her fantasies of late.

‘It was my father’s plan.’ Devlin’s voice vibrated through her body, but it did not soothe. ‘And it is the only means I have of solving our problems.’

He held her more tightly. ‘You see, Maddy, I am a wealthy man. My father bequeathed me a fortune, as he did my sisters and second brother. Ned, of course, has the title and all the entailed property and is as rich as Croesus, but my father saw that each of us would prosper.’

‘I do not understand. You are wealthy, but your brother refuses you money?’ He made no sense.

He laughed drily. ‘There is the rub. My father thought me unfit for my property and wealth. Ned controls the lot until I marry a lady of whom he approves.’

She buried her face into his chest so he would not see. Her fantasies had indeed been foolish. He must marry someone of whom his brother approved. A lady such as the beautiful Marchioness. Not one who came as the prize in a game of cards.

She took a deep breath. ‘So you must marry.’

‘Marriage shall steady me…or so Father believed. I have resisted, Maddy. It seems an abominable reason to marry.’ He squeezed her, his strength conveying his frustration. ‘It is too soon for me, in any event. I have just done being a soldier. I do not wish—’ He broke off.